Archive of Our Own

*

“I think Malfoy is up to something.”

Hermione didn’t even do Harry the decency of looking up.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, not tearing her eyes away from the morning’s Prophet. “Can you pass the butter, please?”

It was times like this that Harry missed Ron. Harry had become disheartened with the idea of becoming an Auror, and so had decided to go back to Hogwarts to catch up on the year he’d missed, whereas Ron had gone straight into Auror training.

And though Ron might not have agreed with Harry that Malfoy was up to something, he would at least have offered a half-hearted insult towards Malfoy.

“He always looks so tired,” Harry pressed on, not really caring if Hermione was interested or not. “And he never really speaks to anyone, and he’s really withdrawn.”

“Those last two are basically the same thing,” Hermione commented dryly, finally folding over her newspaper and looking at him. “Malfoy can’t risk being up to anything; he was lucky to escape Azkaban, and the slightest hint of criminal activity could overturn that ruling. He’s probably just worried about his parents.”

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had fled the country the day before their trial. Nobody quite knew how it had happened, but there were so many being trialled that nobody really kept track of them all - it was surprising that only Lucius and Narcissa had had the sense to flee.

“Well maybe he’s doing something for them,” Harry theorised, his tone hushed. “He could be smuggling illegal potions or money, or-”

“Harry.” Hermione had a serious look in her eyes, focused and unwavering. “How are you feeling?”

Harry blinked. “How am I feeling?” he repeated blankly, furrowing his brow.

“I get the impression that you’re almost… bored of life,” Hermione said, offering him a sympathetic smile. “Ever since Ginny broke up with you you’ve almost been going on autopilot, and it seems like you’re looking for a bit of excitement in your life. It’s understandable, considering how all our years have gone before now, but-”

“So you think I’m imagining things with Malfoy?” Harry accused. He couldn’t argue with her first point, though; Harry was bored.

He didn’t really have much going for him. Though he was over Ginny, he was still lonely in a sense, and he didn’t have inspiration for a career anymore. Harry was just taking things as they came, the same old thing everyday. But all that didn’t mean he was going to start making things up to entertain himself.

“Not imagining, exactly,” Hermione said hastily. “But you might be reading too much into things. I’m sure Malfoy has got stuff going on, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s up to something. If you’re worried, why don’t you try talking to him?”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “What good would talking to him do? He’s not going to tell me anything.”

No, it would have to come down to good, old-fashioned spying.

So later that night, in the new room that he shared with Dean - the only other Gryffindor boy from his year to return - Harry shut the curtains to his four-poster bed, pulled his knees to his chest, and put all of his attention onto the Marauder’s Map.

His eyes scanned the Map, starting in the Slytherin dormitory and the nearby rooms where Malfoy was staying. Malfoy wasn’t there, despite it being five minutes to curfew, though there were a few students lingering nearby.

Harry frowned as he searched for Malfoy’s name, not able to spot it in any of the expected places like the library or even the Hospital Wing. But then he caught sight of a dot moving rapidly towards the lake, the name Draco Malfoy in small, curly writing next to it.

Malfoy reached the edge of the lake, lingering in the water for a moment - and then the dot and Malfoy’s name disappeared.

Had Malfoy drowned? Surely not - he had only been in the water for a minute. Or had the Great Lake never been accounted for when the Map was created? Perhaps Malfoy had just gone for a swim and it hadn’t registered on the Map.

Half an hour later, though, and Malfoy still hadn’t returned.

After a number of times waking with a start every time his head jerked forwards with sleep, Harry finally fell asleep over the Map without meaning to. He didn’t stay asleep long, the position he was in far too uncomfortable for him to have settled into a deep sleep, but it had been long enough that Malfoy’s name had returned to the Slytherin quarters and Harry had missed it.

So Malfoy hadn’t died in the lake, and it was unlikely to be a flaw on the Map; Malfoy was definitely up to something.

*

Harry had been watching Malfoy for the last few nights on the Marauder’s Map, and every night the same thing happened - Malfoy would go down to the lake, vanish from the Map, and reappear around half an hour to an hour later. And as the Map wasn’t giving Harry anything else to work with, he knew he’d have to take the next step.

When Friday night came, Harry thought it would be the perfect excuse to finally follow Malfoy because he didn’t have to worry about getting enough sleep for lessons the following day. So he set out with his Invisibility Cloak, his wand, and the Marauder’s Map, and headed down to the lake early to try and catch Malfoy in the act of whatever he was up to.

Harry shivered as he waited by a tree at the lakeside, and pulled his Invisibility Cloak tighter around him in an attempt to protect himself from the cold. Autumn was slowly morphing into winter, bringing cold breezes and a lot of rain with it. The weather hadn’t stopped Malfoy venturing out, however, so Harry wasn’t going to let a little cold stop him.

There was rustling in the trees just away from Harry, the leaves parting as an owl took flight from a branch. And then there were footsteps crunching on the autumn leaves that had fallen onto the grounds, as a dark figure began approaching the water - Malfoy had arrived.

Malfoy was wrapped in a thick fur coat - which seemed a bit extreme to Harry - and he had a wicker picnic basket hooked on one of his arms.

Harry watched as Malfoy stopped by the edge of the lake, looking around surreptitiously before dipping one of his feet in the water. Malfoy’s shoe made swirls in the water, his leg stretching as far out as he could manage without falling in.

Just when Harry was about to accept that Malfoy had simply lost the plot, Malfoy’s foot seemed to hit something invisible. The empty space above Malfoy’s shoe seemed to shudder and shake, becoming hazy before a boat suddenly popped into view.

Harry blinked in confusion.

The boat was relatively small, and surprisingly Muggle-like. It was white with metal railings, and had a cabin over the front half, before the bow, while the back of it was open in a small deck, with three small steps leading into the water.

Malfoy began climbing aboard, which prompted Harry to quickly get over his surprise to dart after him. The boat tilted gently as Harry hurried across it, and he managed to slide into the cabin before Malfoy shut the door behind him.

The cabin was smaller than Harry had expected, as he been certain Malfoy would have used magic to expand the living space, but evidently not. The main part of the cabin was the part he was standing in now; one side had a plastic chair facing the windows, in front of a steering wheel and control panel, while on the other side there was a row of seats with white material poking out in places. There was an open doorway in between, leading to a room which seemed to be made entirely out of bed, hidden underneath the bow.

Harry settled himself on the row of chairs, holding himself absolutely still as if that would somehow make him extra quiet. Malfoy didn’t seem to be on edge, though, and was simply tapping his wand on the control panel and the steering wheel before turning the key to the engine.

The boat groaned loudly, and Harry gripped onto the edge of the seat as the creaking continued while the boat seemed to get lower.

Harry could only assume that Malfoy was using the same method that the Durmstrang boat had used during their visit for the Triwizard Tournament; if not then Malfoy had clearly noticed an intruder on board and was now trying to drown him.

But as the boat submerged fully, the water didn’t come crashing in through the doors or the tiny gaps in the walls, but simply sank lower and lower while staying bone dry inside.

It was impossible to see anything out of the windows, the water too dark, but the boat seemed to be steering itself while Malfoy drummed his fingers on the control panel. And then came a feeling similar to Apparition, like being squeezed through a tiny tube except this time it was the boat moving and Harry was just being pulled along with it.

It stopped just as suddenly as it started, and then the boat was floating upwards until it resurfaced. Almost immediately Harry noticed a distinct drop in temperature, and Malfoy’s fur coat suddenly made sense.

Harry held his breath in an attempt to stop the icy puffs of breath escaping the Cloak from giving him away. He needn’t have bothered, because Malfoy didn’t even spare a glance at the row of seats as he passed by with the picnic basket in one hand and the boat keys in the other.

A minute passed before Harry allowed himself to follow Malfoy, trying to keep enough distance between them. Stepping out onto the boat deck, Harry could see that they were definitely not in Scotland anymore.

The body of water the boat had come out on seemed to stretch on for miles, dark as ink in the night, wide where the boat had stopped but narrowing down into a stream much further away. Blocks of ice floated in the water, the sharp white colour striking in contrast with the dark water. Looming mountains surrounded the lake at all sides, with jagged edges cutting across the night sky.

It was incredibly beautiful seeing brutal nature, all sharp and cold, and overwhelming. It made Harry feel small and insignificant, and somehow being lost amongst it felt satisfying.

A sudden burst of light caught his eye, and Harry turned to see Malfoy waiting by the door of a house. The light had come from a lantern on the deck of the porch, which illuminated a house made from vertical wood panels which had been painted bright red, and had a long, sloping roof which was covered in snow.

The door opened, and in the light the figure of Lucius Malfoy was unmistakable. He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him; he was no longer bordering on being skeletal, and his hair looked freshly washed. He glanced around the area behind his son suspiciously, but when he obviously deemed it safe he smiled broadly and pulled Malfoy into a tight hug, before they both disappeared inside.

It was only when the door shut that Harry found himself a bit stumped.

He was pleased, of course, that he had been right - Malfoy delivering supplies to his outlaw parents definitely counted as being up to something - and he would be very smug telling Hermione so tomorrow, but that didn’t help him decide what to do right now.

Harry had absolutely no idea where he was, so Apparating to Hogsmeade was out of the question unless he wanted to end up Splinched. And Malfoy had taken the boat keys, so Harry couldn’t have stolen the boat to get back even if he wanted to - plus he had no idea how it worked.

So, with the cold sinking through to his bones, Harry decided to wait on the boat until Malfoy came back. However, he ran into a problem as soon as he sat down and attempted to cast a Warming Charm - his wand did nothing but fizzle and the spell fell flat.

Putting it down to bad casting, Harry tried again and the same thing happened, and again when he tried Lumos.

The magic was blocked, Harry realised with sudden horror. Lucius and Narcissa were in hiding, and having an anti-magic ward around them would stop anyone from being able to track them down through magical means. Lucius and Narcissa weren’t Harry’s concern right now, however.

The problem was, Harry was shivering, his teeth were chattering, and he had no way to warm himself. He couldn’t trust going to the house for help because nobody knew where Harry was, and Lucius could do anything to Harry if he wanted. And walking somewhere would be stupid, because as far as Harry could see they were in the middle of nowhere - the nearest town could be hours away.

Freezing to death on a boat belonging to Malfoy was not how Harry had imagined his end.

Not even a minute had passed when Harry made the executive decision to shed his Invisibility Cloak and climb into the bed instead. He would rather be caught by Malfoy than die invisibly, and a duvet had never looked warmer to Harry.

The bed was uncomfortable and springy, groaning under his weight as he crawled onto it, but the duvet was far warmer than the Cloak had been. Harry cocooned himself in the material, curling around himself and bringing his knees to his chest.

So he was having a minor setback; it was nothing to worry about. A little cold surely wasn’t enough to hurt anyone.

Or maybe it was, because Harry found he didn’t have the energy to care some time later when he heard footsteps on the boat. He couldn’t even be arsed to reach down for his Invisibility Cloak, the coldness of his arms literally making them too painful to move.

The footsteps stopped for a moment, and then continued as Malfoy scoffed.

“For Salazar’s Sake, Potter!” Malfoy stepped into the bedroom, the tiny size of it giving him no choice other than to crawl across the bed. “Why aren’t I even surprised you’re here?”

“F-fuck off, M-Malfoy,” Harry stammered, regretting opening his mouth as he realised just how loud his teeth were chattering.

“Merlin, Potter, you actual idiot,” Malfoy said softly, shifting on the bed and tugging the duvet away from Harry. “I’m trying to help you,” Malfoy hissed when Harry refused to let go. “You freezing to death on my boat isn’t going to do me any favours.”

“J-just throw my b-body in the lake,” Harry suggested, letting out a humourless laugh.

Malfoy gave a strong pull, and finally got the duvet off Harry. “Because covering up your death would be an even better idea. Stay on your side.”

Malfoy settled himself behind Harry’s back, throwing an arm and a leg over Harry’s body to pull them flush together. Malfoy’s body was warm, radiating heat, and Harry almost melted under the touch. Malfoy’s warmth and the softness of the fur coat tied with the duvet back over him, already had Harry feeling warmer.

“D-doesn’t this work better if we’re n-naked?” Harry managed to grin, wincing when Malfoy shoved his shoulder lightly.

“Don’t make me regret not throwing you in the lake, Potter.”

But Malfoy’s arms tightened around Harry, and once the shivering of his body eased, Harry found himself falling into an exhausted sleep.

*

Harry awoke to daylight and warmth.

He blinked blearily for a moment, sitting up and finding himself practically weighted down with blankets. Not only did he have a duvet over him, but his Invisibility Cloak, a tartan blanket, and Malfoy’s fur coat had been added to the pile. The thought of Malfoy had Harry cringing.

How stupid had he been to follow Malfoy without any clue where Malfoy was going? Harry knew he’d have been able to defend himself with magic if he had needed to, but having no wand in an incredibly cold climate had been unexpected and almost dangerous; that would be one thing he definitely wouldn’t be telling Hermione.

Pushing all the coverings off him - though keeping hold of his Invisibility Cloak - Harry shuffled to the end of the bed and climbed off it, stepping back through to the cabin. Malfoy was asleep on the row of seats, wrapped in two or three sets of robes. He looked rather peaceful, almost kind without the usual sneer on his face.

Harry tiptoed past him in an attempt to be quiet, but Malfoy was evidently a light sleeper.

“Potter?” Malfoy mumbled, sitting up and sending the robes to the floor.

“Malfoy, hi,” Harry said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Er, thank you for last night; I appreciate you not letting me freeze to death. And sorry for sneaking onto your boat, I guess.”

“You guess?” Malfoy repeated slowly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with his palms. “If you’re going to stalk me, Potter, do me the decency of doing it professionally. Honestly, who plans a visit to Greenland in November without a proper coat?”

Harry stared. “Greenland?” Where even was Greenland? All Harry knew that it was somewhere north, and evidently very cold.

“You didn’t know we were in Greenland?” Malfoy asked, clearly astonished due to the fact he hadn’t seemed to have blinked once yet. “What did…? Did you just jump aboard without a clue where I was going? What did you know before last night?”

“Pretty much nothing,” Harry said with a shrug, deciding he might as well tell Malfoy the truth considering he owed him one. “I knew you were up to something, and now I know exactly what; you’re delivering supplies to your parents. They’re wanted people, Malfoy!”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you think I know that?” he snarled. “Potter, you can’t say anything to anyone - not even Granger. I think that the fact you’re not an iced up corpse makes it obvious that you owe me.”

“Your father’s a criminal,” Harry protested hotly.

His irritation, however, faded when he remembered that Sirius had been in the same position as the Malfoys. Admittedly, Sirius had actually been innocent, but nobody else knew that, and Harry knew how he’d have felt if a student had spotted Sirius in Hogsmeade and reported him.

“Oh, fine,” Harry said, sighing in defeat. “But mostly because I owe your mother; if I turn your father in then she’d go with him.”

It was true; Narcissa didn’t deserve imprisonment, but even if she hadn’t been at high risk before, she definitely would be now for running. Besides, how much trouble could Lucius get in considering he was living in rural Greenland?

“Thank you, Potter,” Malfoy murmured quietly, the genuine relief in his voice taking Harry by surprise but also reassuring him that he had made the right decision.

“‘S’alright.” Harry shrugged. He cast a look out of the boat’s windows, towards the tall towers of Hogwarts castle, made from cold stone and holding the memories of a darker time. Hogwarts used to be beautiful, but now it reeked of death. “Can I come with you again?”

The words were out of his mouth before he realised what he was saying, but he didn’t regret them once they were out. Strangely, being close to death had been the most alive Harry had felt since May, and the change of scenery to a place which was dominated by ice and mountains rather than memories was refreshing.

“Potter, I’m literally delivering food and laundry to my parents,” Malfoy said slowly, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “You don’t have to spy-”

“I’m not spying,” Harry cut in, sheepishly adding, “not anymore, at least. I liked being in Greenland - just being away from Hogwarts, really.”

Malfoy’s face remained nothing but wary as he studied Harry, staring at him for so long that Harry had to avert his gaze after it began to get uncomfortable.

“Alright,” Malfoy said finally. “Not every night, though, and only when I invite you. And get yourself a proper winter coat, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Brilliant,” Harry beamed, suddenly unsure if he should shake Malfoy’s hand or something.

“Just don’t make me regret not throwing you in the lake,” Malfoy muttered darkly, but he sounded affectionate. “We’re a little bit out of Hogwart’s Grounds; we’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“I didn’t realise the lake went out so far,” Harry commented, but Malfoy only made a noise of acknowledgement rather than replying, signalling the end of their conversation.

Harry was fine with not talking to Malfoy, and took a seat in the hard plastic chair in front of the wheel. It was currently spinning itself, obviously powered by magic, as the boat zoomed through the dark waters of the lake. Looking out the window, Harry saw row upon row of green trees, merging into each other and disappearing into the hillside. But while Harry could have once appreciated the beauty of it, it was in trees like those that he had died.

“Any chance of you looking a little less glum when we arrive, Potter?” Malfoy murmured, his voice sounding oddly muffled. “Or are you trying to go for the tragic hero look?”

“I’m not going for anything,” Harry said, turning around to face Malfoy. “Those things will kill you, you know,” he added, referring to the cigarette balancing between Malfoy’s lips.

Malfoy shrugged. “We all die at some point regardless.”

The conversation stalled again, and Harry resumed his staring out of the window. He crinkled his nose as the stale, musty smell of cigarette smoke wafted through the cabin, reminding him of Dudley’s clothes which had reeked of cigarettes - which Vernon and Petunia had inexplicably blamed on Harry.

It wasn’t long before Hogwarts came into view, and though Harry loved the castle dearly, it didn’t feel like home to him anymore; was ready to move on.

*

Harry waited for days, and Malfoy still hadn’t come to invite him back.

It was strange; Harry had been very aware of Malfoy at meal times, but when he tried to spot Malfoy elsewhere it was a lot harder.

He saw Malfoy in class, of course, but Malfoy was always the first to leave. He seemed to hurry through the corridors, never spending any more time than he had to in places. In fact, according to the Marauder’s Map if Malfoy wasn’t in lessons or on his boat, he would be alone in his bedroom.

Malfoy had been the only Slytherin to return to repeat his final year, and Harry reckoned that it must be lonely for him. Harry knew as well that the other students weren’t so happy that Malfoy was at school, but over time they seemed to have gone from muttering about him to simply glaring at him from across the Great Hall.

It was just over a week later from Harry’s first trip when he received an owl at breakfast with a note which simply read, ‘come to the lake tonight, 11pm. D..’ Harry glanced over at Malfoy who was watching him, and he nodded subtlety at Harry before turning his attention away from him.

The prospect of getting away from Hogwarts for a bit was thrilling, which unfortunately meant that the lessons of the day dragged. Indeed; when the final class ended Harry rushed his dinner so he could be ready waiting at the lake for Malfoy.

Harry had bought a new coat especially,which Dean had helped him pick out on a trip to Hogsmeade. It was a long, brown, faux fur coat - pretty standard - and Dean had decided it would be funny not to point out that the hood had ears. That meant, naturally, that Harry wouldn’t be able to put his hood up around Malfoy.

Harry swished his hand through the water as he waited for Malfoy,and by the time Malfoy had arrived Harry’s hand had gone numb from the cold. He wiped the wetness onto his coat, and Malfoy grimaced.

“Oh, it’s not real fur,” Harry offered reassuringly, but Malfoy’s grimace only deepened.

“Faux fur?” Malfoy muttered disdainfully. “I suppose it’ll do.”

Not wanting to get into an argument with Malfoy about wearing fur, Harry decided to let the comment slide.

“So what’s the plan?” Harry asked, watching idly as Malfoy kicked around in the water until he found his currently invisible boat.

“We go, I deliver the goods,” Malfoy answered as the boat came into view. “And then we can stay on the boat for a while.”

They climbed aboard the vessel, Harry sitting on a chair while Malfoy tapped around the steering wheel and the controls.

“So how does it work, exactly?” Harry asked curiously as the boat began to move once again on its own. “The boat, I mean, and getting to Greenland?”

“The boat’s been magically adapted so it can go underwater,” Malfoy explained, gesturing around them. “Do you remember how the Durmstrang boat arrived for the Triwizard Tournament? It’s the same charm that they used; basically it means once you’re underwater you can go wherever you set the navigation to, kind of like using the Floo but with a spell instead of powder and water instead of fire.”

“So you can go anywhere you want?” Harry asked, inexplicably holding himself very still as the world around him tightened as they were transported to the icy waters of Greenland. His mind was abuzz with the possibilities, thinking of all the places he could travel, and the idea of getting to spend all day out on the waters while watching the world go by.He imagined what it would be like to just be in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but deep, blue waves as far as the eye could see.

“Within reason,” Malfoy said. “Wait here; I won’t be long.”

Harry watched as Malfoy hurried out with the picnic basket, and followed him out, stopping to sit on the plastic bench that ran around the inside of the deck. And once again, he had his breath taken away.

It was just so all-consuming, the mountains great and full of centuries’ worth of stories. Harry looked up, smiling as he saw stars twinkling in the clear sky; he had never been one for Astronomy, but he could still appreciate a night’s sky. It was still cold, of course, but his coat warmed him up a lot more than the last time, and rubbing his hands together helped.

“Wait until you see it on other nights.” Malfoy was back, a bottle of wine in his hands. “Let me take us up a bit, away from the house,” he murmured as he disappeared into the cabin; moments later the boat began moving up the lake.

“What’s it like on other nights?” Harry asked when Malfoy came out again, carrying the wine bottle and two mugs.

“Beautiful,” Malfoy answered simply. “And don’t ask,” he added as he began pouring the wine into the mugs. “The Ministry seized everything we had, including all our dining goods. Most of my money went on this boat, so I’ve had to make do.”

It should have been funny seeing Malfoy struggling to keep up financially, considering all the times he had made fun of Ron and the Weasleys for being poor, but it wasn’t funny at all.

“I have plenty if you need anything,” Harry offered earnestly. “I-”

“I don’t need your charity, Potter,” Malfoy hissed, thrusting a mug into Harry’s hands. Their hands brushed, Malfoy’s fingers surprisingly hot. “Merlin; you’re freezing.”

Malfoy got up and went back into the cabin, returning moments later with a blanket that he draped around Harry’s shoulders. Malfoy pulled one around himself, and took a seat opposite Harry.

“Drink up, Potter,” Malfoy said, jerking his head towards the mug. “That’s the finest elf-made wine you’ll ever have the pleasure of drinking, though I apologise that it’s in a mug of all things.”

“It’s fine,” Harry smiled, taking a sip and trying not to pull a face at the strong taste. It was fruity, though, tasting like berries, and wasn’t so bad after the initial tasting.

“Not much of a wine drinker?” Malfoy guessed.

The boat had stopped now, leaving them essentially in the middle of nowhere. The land on one side was covered in snow that glinted in the moonlight, sparkling like it had its own magic. The mountains loomed over them on the other side, and Harry felt somehow like they were protecting them, though from what he didn’t know - memories and loneliness, perhaps.

And there was Malfoy in front of him, whose skin was flawlessly pale in the icy cold, with his lips stained red from the wine. Malfoy’s face was all angles; a pointed chin, a smooth nose, and sharp cheekbones that looked like they could cut like razor blades. His hair glowed in the moonlight ethereally; Malfoy was beautiful, Harry thought, not traditionally, but in an unafraid, jagged sort of way. He was like the mountains, unafraid and powerful.

The wine was beginning to warm Harry’s blood, and already had his head feeling fuzzy. It was a pleasant feeling, like nothing really mattered anymore, and that nothing would go wrong again.

“I miss Ginny,” Harry found himself saying, placing a hand on Malfoy’s knee. “Well not her, but I miss having someone to be close to, you know.”

“I know loneliness, Potter,” Malfoy agreed. “And at least you still have all your friends and the support of the Wizarding World; I have nobody.”

“I don’t want everybody, though,” Harry admitted, realising that this was the first time he had ever said anything like this outloud. “I look at them, and all I see is the people who aren’t there anymore because of me. I was too slow.”

“Voldemort,” Malfoy said, taking Harry by surprise for using the proper name, “is the only one to blame for everything. The sooner everyone learns that, the better.”

Malfoy sounded so bitter, that Harry reached for the wine bottle and poured them both another mug full.

Sometime later, when the fuzziness had increased and Harry’s world was spinning slightly, Harry decided to lay down on the deck to look up at the stars, pulling his hood up over his head. Malfoy found the ears of the hood hilarious, but came and joined him anyway. They lay side-by-side, swaddled in coats and blankets, sharing in each other’s warmth.

“I’m enjoying tonight, Potter,” Malfoy said, reaching over and grabbing Harry’s hand. It was a comforting gesture, and Harry enjoyed the feel of it.

“Why do you always call me Potter?” Harry asked, his words only slightly slurred. “If you can say Voldemort, why can’t you say Harry? I can call you by your name, Draco. Draco,” he repeated, rolling the r and smiling at the feel of the name on his tongue.

“Harry,” Draco enunciated firmly, absently rubbing his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand. “Would you like a cigarette, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, but was mildly impressed at how Draco somehow managed to get a cigarette from his pocket and light it one-handed.

The bitter taste of smoke soon filled the air, and Harry turned to look at Draco who was looking up at the stars with the cigarette balanced between his lips. They were lovely lips, really; not chapped like Harry’s, but smooth and red and plump.

Draco turned to look at him suddenly, and for some reason feeling like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, Harry reached over and plucked the cigarette from Draco’s lips and put it between his own.

He spluttered indignantly when he took the first drag and felt the smoke filling his lungs and burning his throat. Draco made a sound of amusement, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the happy look on Draco’s face. Harry took a second drag, prepared that time for what would happen, and he made it without choking. He let out the smoke from his mouth, watching awed as the dark mixed with the white of his icy breath.

They took it in turns taking drags of the cigarette, not letting go of the other’s hand once.

It was the most alive that Harry had had in a long time.

*

Harry woke up with a pounding headache and stiff shoulders. He was distantly aware of something weighted across his chest, not heavy but in his half-asleep state it felt like he was being pinned down.

He groaned as he forced himself to sit up, pushing the weight off him and realising it was an arm; Draco’s arm, in fact. They were both there together in the tiny bed on-board the boat, both clothed, Harry noted with a slight bitterness.

Draco’s eyes snapped open as Harry moved his arm, the whites of his eyes red-rimmed. His normally perfectly groomed hair was wilder than normal - though it was still relatively flat when compared with Harry’s.

The water rocking the boat seemed rougher than normal, and it had Harry reaching for the wall to steady himself despite being sat down.

“Not used to proper wine, Harry?” Draco commented lightly, his voice hoarse from sleep; Harry was pleased to note that Draco had still remembered their attempt at using each other’s first names.

“I’m not used to wine,” Harry muttered, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “I’m more of a cider man.”

“Of course you are,” Draco said with a grimace, as though the very thought pained him.

He crawled across the bed - the only way to leave it - and in doing so gave Harry a nice glimpse of his arse. Draco’s trousers had become rumpled from being slept in overnight, resulting in the material clinging in all the right places; Harry didn’t even have it in him to feel guilty.

“We’ll go back to Hogwarts soon,” Draco said. “But I know a way to definitely perk you up a bit before we do.”

Harry felt his cheeks warm against his will, the subtle innuendo behind Draco’s words - which probably didn’t even mean anything close to what Harry was thinking - enough to get to him. Harry had blamed the alcohol last night for being so aware of Draco, for the way he noticed every line and every curve of his body, and the way every strand of his hair glowed like starlight. But all the alcohol was out of his system now, and Harry still noticed.

Alcohol hadn’t made Draco attractive; it just made Harry more aware of it. And now he had noticed, he couldn’t unsee it - he didn’t want to unsee it.

“Come on,” Draco said, gesturing for Harry to come after him.

Harry did so, following Draco through the cabin and onto the deck. Hogwarts was just about visible in the distance, but otherwise they were completely alone, surrounded by green trees and rocky hills.

But even the fact they were alone couldn’t stop Harry gaping when Draco tore off his shirt. Draco’s torso was littered in scars, shining white and small, but Harry knew how much damage they had caused when they had first been inflicted upon him. However, Harry didn’t have chance to feel guilty about it when Draco slipped out of his shoes and began unbuckling his trousers.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, voice strained as he looked up at the sky while Draco stripped off his trousers, socks, and boxers.

“Having a little dip in the water,” Draco said as if it was obvious. “Care to join me?”

“I don’t have swimming trunks,” Harry answered slowly, keeping his eyes glued on the cloudy, grey sky, fearing that the temptation to look lower would strike if he looked at Draco.

“Are you really that dense?” Draco asked impatiently. “You don’t need clothes to go in the water. Oh, don’t tell me; you’re not shy are you? I’ll admit I never took you for a prude.”

“I’m not a prude,” Harry defended hotly, though he realised that the fact he was still staring at the sky was giving away quite the opposite impression.

“Why don’t you look at me, then?” Draco spurred, his tone only half mocking.

Refusing to let Draco think that he was scared of a bit of nudity, Harry looked away from the sky to face Draco. Naturally, Harry’s eyes betrayed him and his gaze dropped down to Draco’s prick, which was soft but still teasingly long.

Draco cleared his throat, and when Harry hastily drew his eyes back up he found that Draco was smirking.

Simply wanting to hide the redness of his cheeks, Harry tore his t-shirt over his head and shed the rest of his clothes in quick succession. He wasn’t particularly ashamed of being nude - after all, he had spent years in a boarding school where he also played a sport which required a changing room - but he somehow felt vulnerable in front of Draco. It was like this was the most open Harry had ever been in front of him, and he half-expected Draco to make a scathing or taunting message about his body.

Draco didn’t say anything, though, and simply stood at the edge of the boat where the railings stopped, leaving an open space. Harry came to stand beside him, looking down at the dark waters of the lake which rippled gently in the breeze.

“Brace yourself,” Draco warned.

It was strange; Harry had jumped off brooms and jumped onto dragons, but jumping naked into a lake with Draco Malfoy was by far the absurd thing he had ever done.

Draco counted to three, but Harry jumped before the word ‘three’ even registered in his head. Then all Harry knew was cold, all-encompassing and powerful. He emerged from the water with a gasp, the ice cold clearing his head but making him shiver. He was aware of every inch of his skin in that moment, of his fingers and toes, and his lungs which burned.

Draco appeared at his side a moment later from underneath the water, emerging gracefully like he belonged in the water. He gave Harry a slanted grin, droplets of water clinging to his lips.

“Feel alive yet?” Draco asked, floating over to the edge of the boat and pushing himself up onto it.

Harry followed after, his limbs heavy but not quite hurting. It was an odd feeling, like he had just confused his body by going from relative cold to almost freezing; but it had been exhilarating despite all that.

“My body says no but my mind says yes,” Harry answered with a grin, not caring in the slightest that Draco had already cast a Drying Charm on himself and was re-dressing, while Harry was nude, shivering, and dripping wet; the contrast made Harry want to burst out laughing.

“I feel like I might regret bringing you to do this,” Draco murmured as he cast a Drying Charm over Harry and thrust his clothes at him. “When you eventually drown or freeze yourself to death, would you please return as a ghost to say it was entirely your fault?”

Harry pretended to consider that for a moment. “Nah, just for fun I might tell them that you pushed me in; see how that turns out for you.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest, and said darkly,“if that happens I’d be better off jumping in the lake myself.”

Harry frowned, and Draco seemed to realise the the seriousness of what he had just said.

“I’m going to take us back to Hogwarts,” Draco said quietly, turning away from Harry and going into the cabin without another word.

He didn’t speak for the rest of the journey.

*

The engine shuddered, went silent, and then shuddered again.

Harry walked over to the control panel and smacked it with his hand, but the engine still didn’t start and Harry was left with a stinging hand.

Draco threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “Lousy heap of junk,” he hissed, kicking the bottom of the control panel. “I’m going to have to fix when it’s daylight, but winter in Greenland means there isn’t much sunlight; I think there’s about an hour or two.”

Somehow, staying in Greenland didn’t seem so terrible. Sure, he’d probably miss lessons and have to come up with an excuse as to why, but that didn’t seem to bother Harry at the moment. Besides, he’d get to share a bed with Draco - and without either being deathly cold or drunk.

Deciding that there was no time like the present, Harry started making his way towards the bedroom when Draco’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, half exasperated and half amused. “Spending just a couple of hours on-board in the middle of the night is alright, but I’d rather my parents didn’t find our frozen corpses in a few hours time. My parent’s house has a spare room for a reason.”

Suddenly, staying in Greenland didn’t sound like a great idea. Granted, Lucius wasn’t able to use magic, but neither was Harry; he doubted that he was physically stronger than Lucius, and would therefore be unable to stop him should he try anything.

He relayed this to Draco. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Won’t my presence, er, aggravate your father?”

“Not at all,” Draco scoffed, raising a brow. “Haven’t you realised yet that my father is all about appearances? If he thinks he can get in your good books through me, then he’ll do what he has to - even if that means playing nice. I’m sure on the inside he might consider smothering you in your sleep, but if there’s a chance that you might guarantee him safety if he ever returns home then he’ll resist those urges.”

Harry wasn’t quite sure if Draco was joking or not, but evidently, Harry didn’t have a choice but to trust Draco’s words.

They left the boat together, the snowy ground crunching beneath their feet as they walked towards the cabin. Up close to the house, Harry realised it was dwarfed by its surroundings, the mountains reminding them just how small they were.

Draco knocked on the door, and Lucius answered it, his eyes immediately locking on Harry.Lucius’s gaze held disgust and curiosity, but no outright hatred; there was also no fear, which suited Lucius far better than the cowardly lackey persona that Voldemort’s reign had shaped him into.

“The boat won’t start, Father,” Draco stated, not noticing - or perhaps not caring about - the tension between Harry and Lucius. “I won’t be able to fix it until daylight so we’ll need to sleep here tonight.”

“We?” Lucius repeated coldly, looking Harry up and down through narrowed eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you, Draco, that Potter could be passing on information to the Ministry?” Despite speaking to his son, Lucius’s eyes never left Harry.

“Why would I do that?” Harry retorted,not shying away from Lucius’s stare. “Living in Muggle isolation is far worse punishment for you than Azkaban.”

He didn’t believe it, of course - what did isolation in the Muggle world matter when there were no cell walls keeping them in? But Harry knew that Lucius wouldn’t believe that he had done it out of goodness, but pretend spite might just work.

And it did work, with Lucius stepping aside and gesturing for them to come in.

The house was rather cosy, Harry thought, though rather small and basic compared to what the Malfoys were used to. The main room had a pile of logs in one corner, and an old-fashioned kitchen in another, with no fridge but a steel stove and a few counters, while in the middle of the room there was a moth-eaten sofa and a small coffee table that had flecks of paint peeling off in places. There were two doors leading off the room, and another with a shuttered window that presumably led to the outside. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, casting a warm orange light across the room.

Narcissa had obviously heard the conversation by the door, because when they came in she had two steaming bowls of food prepared, with a plate of homemade bread.

“Hello, boys,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Unlike her husband, Narcissa seemed to be taking isolation quite badly, with heavy bags under her eyes and a tremble in her hands which Harry wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been holding something. “Sit down; I’ve fixed you up some rabbit stew.”

Harry smiled at Narcissa as he took a seat beside Draco, the sofa lumpy and uncomfortable. The heat from the fire made Harry’s toes curl pleasantly, though, and Draco was so close to Harry that their legs were pressed together which gave Harry another, better kind of warmth.

They ate the stew with wooden spoons, not a word said between them. Lucius perched on the arm of the sofa beside Draco, resting his hand on Draco’s shoulder. It was a tender touch, Harry recognised, a comfort between father and son that he had never experienced. Narcissa, meanwhile, sat on the floor by the fire, stitching embroidery with a look that was close to peace.

It was like a view into the family and their lives after Voldemort. It made Harry feel uncomfortable, like he was a stranger to them, and in many ways he was. Draco’s leg knocked against his gently, a gesture that could have been mistaken for accidental but somehow Harry knew it wasn’t. They exchanged a look out of the corner of their eyes, and looked away together. Narcissa fixed Harry with a knowing gaze, but Harry pretended not to notice.

Not much later, Narcissa set Harry up in the spare bedroom; a small room with a bed and a wardrobe. She refused to let Draco share with him, saying it wasn’t proper for two young men - unmarried, she emphasised, much to Lucius’s discomfort - but insisted that a guest should get the bed. Harry offered to kip on the sofa in place of Draco - after all, he had slept in far worse places - but Narcissa refused to listen.

Harry fell asleep far too easily, lingering worries about being murdered drifting from his head as soon as he hit the pillow. But a couple of hours later, when through his sleep Harry felt a hand touch his shoulder, he bolted awake, flailing his arms around wildly.

“Shh,” Draco hissed, grabbing Harry’s wrists and pinning them above his head. “Do you want my parents to hear?”

Harry blinked, panic quickly turning into something different as he came to terms with the fact that Draco was pinning him down in bed. Warmth radiated from his lower regions, and he was incredibly grateful that Draco was leaning over him which kept distance between their bodies.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. “I thought you were your father.”

Draco tilted his head, raising a brow. “Why would my father be coming to your bed in the dead of night?”

“To smother me,” Harry suggested. “Or to slit my throat; I don’t know.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I would hope that if my father decided to murder someone, he wouldn’t pick such a high-profile victim. Now come on; I want to show you something.”

Harry felt a slither of disappointment when Draco released his wrists, and he followed him out of the room. They tip-toed through the front room, and as Draco turned the handle of the front door he whispered, “shut your eyes.”

Harry did so, though he felt incredibly stupid; at least until Draco took hold of his hand and led him into the cold.

“Keep your eyes shut,” Draco warned. “I don’t want you to ruin the surprise. We’re stepping onto the boat now.”

It was incredibly hard to keep his eyes shut, especially as Draco told him to turn sideways as they stepped over the benches on deck to walk to the front of the boat, but it seemed important to Draco.

“Lie down,” Draco said. “And open your eyes.”

Harry did. The first thing he thought was that the Dark Mark had been cast, but then he realised he was horribly mistaken, and he was looking at something far more pure and beautiful.

A wall of shimmering green light tore across the sky, towering up high and out of view. It glimmered and glowed, shining brightly against the dark expanse of the night sky, brighter than all the stars behind it. It was…

“It’s beautiful,” he said aloud, reaching his hand above him in a longing to touch the mysterious glow.

“It’s the Northern Lights - Aurora Borealis,” Draco explained, his voice breathy and distant. “I thought my parents were stupid for choosing here of all places to hide, but then I saw this. There’s no magic to it - it’s entirely natural - but it’s the most astonishing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Harry agreed completely. The unforgiving mountain landscape and the bitter cold was incredible to Harry anyway, but this - the Northern Lights - only served to make Harry feel even more insignificant. He wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Chosen One; he wasn’t the one who was too slow and let people die, or the one who couldn’t get his head together while everyone else had moved on; he was just Harry. He was a small, tiny part of the universe, who would die and be forgotten while this world around him lived on. It was comforting to Harry, that to the universe he didn’t matter; he could be anyone he wanted in its confines.

“My father used to say to me, Carpe Diem,” Draco murmured softly, turning onto his side to face Harry. “It’s Latin; it means seize the day. It didn’t get him very far in life, but at the time he made decisions he thought it would be the best thing for him.”

Harry turned to face Draco, their bodies inches apart. Harry shifted even closer, bringing his hands to cup Draco’s cheeks; Draco, who looked ethereal in the green glow of the Northern Lights, bathed in emerald light.

Carpe Diem, indeed.

Harry closed the final gap between them, tentatively pressing his lips to Draco’s. Draco tasted like stale cigarettes and log fire, and all shyness was lost as he immediately found himself taken by Draco’s taste.

Draco moaned into the kiss, bringing his hands to Harry’s hair to pull him even closer. Draco’s fingers tugged hard as he gently bit on Harry’s lower lip, pushing his tongue against Harry’s as they explored one another.

Harry was only a small part of the universe, insignificant, really, but Draco was like his own personal universal, made of bad decisions and starlight; redemption and hope.

*

Draco fixed the engine with ease when daylight came, and Narcissa sent them on their way with a hug for each of them.

While she hugged Harry, she whispered into his ear, “don’t let Draco end up like us; make him happy and free.”

Her words had haunted Harry ever since.

Draco and Harry had spent a long while kissing on the boat the night before, and again when Draco pushed Harry up against the wall of the house before they went back inside. Kissing Draco made Harry feel airy and light-headed, and like nothing around him mattered.

Draco had been just as enthusiastic as Harry had, and upon returning to Hogwarts he had left Harry with the promise of the next night - so Harry was very confused as to why Draco hadn’t turned up.

Harry had been waiting for almost an hour now, and there was still no sign of Draco. Even if Draco had gone without Harry for some reason, he should have been back by now - he only stayed out late if Harry was with him.

When looking at his watch finally told him that an hour had gone by, Harry made his way back to the castle with a bitter taste in his mouth. Draco must have regretted the previous night; why else would he avoid Harry like that? Harry didn’t know if Draco had just been caught up in the moment of the Northern Lights, or if he had since thought things over and decided against Harry, but no matter the reason it still hurt.

Draco was the only thing in Harry’s life that didn’t leave him feeling lost or damaged. Draco didn’t remind him of death, and he didn’t force painful memories upon him; their past had shaped them, but arguments and fist fights meant nothing when compared with Voldemort. Past sins were easier to forgive, and Harry had moved on from whom he and Draco had been when they were young, but maybe Draco was finding it harder to accept that.

Returning to his room, Harry decided to look at the Marauder’s Map, hoping just for the off chance that Draco wouldn’t be in the castle because he had gone to his parent’s house on his own. What Harry saw was worse; Draco was at Hogwarts, but he was in the Hospital Wing.

Harry had never moved so fast, sprinting down the hallways and skipping steps in an attempt to get to the Hospital Wing as fast as he could. He skidded on the stone floor as he ground to a halt upon arrival, moving softly across the floor in case he woke up Madam Pomfrey and got kicked out before he could talk to Draco.

Draco was the only resident in the ward, and was resting on his side, facing the window. He didn’t seem to be making any movement that suggested he was awake, but when Harry whispered his name he turned around with wide eyes.

“Harry?” Draco hissed, wincing as he moved to make room for Harry on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry mimicked, eyeing Draco critically. He didn’t look ill or injured - Madam Pomfrey did good work - but wincing at moving wasn’t a good sign.

“It’s nothing,” Draco muttered, folding his hands in his lap and staring at them. “Madam Pomfrey just wants to keep me here for observation overnight.”

“But why?” Harry persisted, placing a hand over Draco’s comfortingly.

“Just some sixth years who think I don’t deserve to be here,” Draco answered quietly, his hand clenching under Harry’s. “I normally manage to avoid them, but I was late getting back yesterday and they caught me outside my room.”

Harry felt his blood run cold; if Draco planned to avoid them, then they’d obviously been a problem for a long time.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not your job to save me,” Draco snapped, but afterwards he sighed and leant forwards to kiss Harry gently. “I know you want to help, but it’s better to leave them to it; if I defend myself in any way then I violate the terms of my probation.”

“But that’s not fair!” Harry argued, wincing at the loudness of his voice. Madam Pomfrey didn’t come running, though, and they both let out sighs of relief. “Will you at least tell me their names?”

Draco shook his head.

Narcissa’s words came back to Harry. ‘Make him happy and free’, she had said. Draco might be at Hogwarts, but he wasn’t free; not when he was still judged for mistakes he had made in the past, by people who never had Voldemort in their lives the way that Harry and Draco had. Harry and Draco had different stories, but their protagonist was the same; they understood each other like no-one else could.

“We should leave,” Harry blurted out, his mouth working faster than his brain. “We should take your boat and go anywhere - anywhere we want.”

Draco stared at Harry for a moment, before finally chuckling and shaking his head in amusement.

“We can’t do that,” Draco said, not sounding entirely convinced by his words.

“Why not?” Harry argued, the prospect of his idea getting more and more exciting by the second. “Neither of us are happy here. What was it your father said? Carpe Diem? Let’s seize the day, and go anywhere we want and live how we want. Nobody will judge us, or tell us how to live. We’ll just be two small people in the massive world, seeing as much of it as we can.”

“I have no money,” Draco tried, but Harry had an answer for that.

“I do, and I’ve nothing better to spend it on,” Harry insisted. “And we could work for local people; imagine all the cultures and languages we could learn, and the friends we’ll make. And even if we don’t make friends, we’ll still have each other.”

Draco looked around, lowering his voice as he said, “but what about my parents? They can’t live on their own out there.”

Harry considered that for a moment. “We can go and see them first and I’ll teach them how to live like a Muggle. They could move to a village so they’re not completely cut off from people, and you could be Secret Keeper or something to keep them safe, although I could have a word with Kingsley to try and call off the search; finding them isn’t a big priority anyway.”

Draco didn’t answer, obviously having run out of excuses, but his silence said only one thing to Harry: what if Draco just didn’t want to go with him?

“Why...?” Draco started, looking at Harry and then looking away again. “Why would you want to go with me? You’d be leaving behind all your friends.”

“We could keep in touch,” Harry said with a smile. “And I want to go with you because you make me happy, and I’ve not been happy for a long time.”

He was answered with a cool mouth on his, arms wrapping around him to pull him down to Draco.

“Alright,” Draco said breathlessly against Harry’s lips. “I’ve always wanted to see Venice.”

And they would go on to see Venice, and Bermuda, and Sri Lanka, and many other places. The world was theirs to explore; together.